Not Exactly Regulation
by suggsygirl
Summary: SLASH - Gene/Sam - Sam and Gene make a bet that can only end badly, but for who?


Sam looks at the room around him - or to be more precise - he looks at what was left of the room around him. 

The scene of the latest in a long line of office Christmas parties also happens to be the office itself and Sam wonders how anybody manages to detect and investigate crime at all when _this_ is the level of devastation they can cause in a few hours. 

The room is not exactly up to date with the relevant health and safety regulations, that much Sam has to accept. What shocks him though is the absolute disregard for anything 'file-like' within a mile radius. Bits of paper are strewn over every available surface, some used as makeshift coasters, some crumpled in heaps that seem to be totally random in construction. 

Sam sighs and squeezes the bridge of his nose as he feels the beginnings of a headache coming on. Stooping down, he picks up the nearest piece of paper and gives it a cursory once over only to find that it's the witness statement of a robbery victim. The corners look as if a mouse has nibbled at them and there is a suspicious looking substance that immediately adheres itself to his hand; he doesn't want to begin to contemplate what it might be.

Walking over to his desk, Sam picks up a pair - of what appear to be knickers - that have been thrown across his pen tidy, twirling them round his fingers until he realises what he's doing and hastily discarding them onto Ray's desk. 

He pushes everything to one side to clear a working space on the cheap, wooden surface and rests his elbows on it, looking around him once again at the sheer carnage.

Lost in the moment, Sam jumps out of his skin when he feels something touch his leg, pushing the chair back with a horrible shrieking sound, he clutches at his chest as if to stop his heart bursting from its confines and looks down.

"Sorry Boss." A very much the worse for wear Chris mumbles, attempting to crawl out from under the furniture not entirely successfully, making it halfway before collapsing and retching into Sam's waste paper basket.

"Can't you people drink in moderation - ever?" Sam says, mostly to himself as Chris is still leaning over the bin and there appears to be no one else in the room.

"Well, well, look what we 'ave 'ere." Gene swaggers up behind them looking amazingly cheerful, surveying his kingdom with a cocky grin on his face. "Some people can't 'old their liquor can they DI Tyler?"

Sam is momentarily confused. "I don't know what you're asking me for. I'm perfectly capable of not getting drunk unlike the rest of your team." He cocks his head in an accusatory manner, knowing that it really winds Gene up and waiting to see what he'll do.

"Oh they're _my_ team now are they? Yer distancin' yerself from us again Mr High-And-Mighty-I-couldn't-'ave-a-good-time-if-yer-paid-me-to?" Gene says, eyebrow raised and a look that Sam has come to fear plastered all over his features. "I would like to bet Gladys, that yer 'ave never been out of control in yer entire uptight, rule upholding life." He takes a step closer and points right in Sam's face. "And further more I am bettin' yer the next three cases done by the book _exactly_ as you deem fit, that you won't come to the next party - which is Friday by the way - get drunk, act like a prat and remove that stick from up yer arse."

Sam tries to school his features appropriately but gives up and just gapes stupidly as various unpalatable scenarios flashed across his subconscious. 

"Let me get this straight. You want me to get drunk and act like... well, like Chris, and for this you will follow my instructions on how to police the next three cases? No planting evidence, no beating up suspects and definitely no arresting people with no evidence? You'll listen to my 'gay boy science' as well?" Sam harrumphs in disbelief. "You're not capable of it."

Gene folds his arms across his chest and looks Sam up and down, his eyes raking over his lean form in a way that makes Sam uncomfortable for reasons he refuses to think about. 

"Try me."

Ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him that this is a very bad idea indeed, Sam grins and holds out his sticky hand. "Deal."

Gene shakes the offered limb and then grimaces as he realises that it's not as pristine as he'd expected from his prissy DI. Wiping it down his slacks, Gene turns and walks into his office, humming tunelessly to himself.

Sam wonders what he's just done as he sits back down at his desk, inadvertently kicking a now prone Chris in the process.

As Friday swiftly approaches - seemingly quicker with each passing second - Sam's stomach twists into ever more intricate knots. He certainly isn't the prissy little do-gooder everyone takes him for, but the thought of letting his guard down in a room containing Gene Hunt is making him feel physically ill. Sam feels like he needs all his wits about him to control the force that is the Guv and that if he is less than alert, then _something_ might happen and he isn't sure how he'd react; ever the control freak.

Despite Sam's reservations about the coming celebrations he throws himself wholeheartedly into the preparations, draping the room in ever-more tacky decorations and ensuring the continuous supply of alcohol; figuring that the more other people have to drink, the less likely they'll be to remember any embarrassing events that may or may not occur.

"Come on then Gladys, let's begin yer indoctrination into the 'all of the spectacularly pissed." Gene booms from his office, the door ajar and the walls rumbling with the force of his voice.

They head to the pub for a 'pre-party' drink, Gene buying Sam a whisky for the first time since he's arrived in the strange and confusing world of CID - seventies style; the very act setting Sam's nerves on edge in readiness for the utter mayhem that is bound to ensue. 

Sitting in The Railway Arms watching his colleagues get steadily and unashamedly drunk, Sam feels removed from proceedings for a reason he can't put his finger on. Despite the amount of alcohol coursing around his system, the drunken gaiety he had hoped for fails to materialise and he ends up watching the others, marvelling at their ability to let go and make fools out of themselves, while remaining amazingly sober himself. 

Chris dances madly, his arms flailing in an uncoordinated fashion that is a danger to everyone around him - occasionally smacking an inebriated colleague full in the face as he attempts to strut his funky stuff. 

Annie is in the corner, laughing so hard at something Ray has said to her that she appears to be finding it hard to breathe: her face flushed and sweaty and her bosoms jiggling in a way that Ray clearly finds captivating. 

As Sam scans his eyes across the room, the one person that he can't ignore is Gene. The man owns the place, fills it, completely dominating everything around him and Sam can feel his stomach twisting and turning, the lump in his throat suddenly making it difficult to breathe as he shakily gulps the drink in front of him.

"Watchin' other people get rat-arsed is _not_ going to win yer the bet, yer great nancy," Gene bellows from somewhere behind him, slinging a heavy arm around Sam's shoulders unexpectedly and breathing what seems to be pure alcohol against his throat.

Shuddering suddenly as the heat of the other man washes over him, Sam closes his eyes and tries to swallow the ever increasing lump in his throat whilst simultaneously hoping that it's the _only_ lump he is going to find difficult to control - at least while Gene is so mind meltingly close. 

With that thought Sam's eyes fly open and he groans inwardly. He fancies Gene Hunt? 

The man in question is watching him with a curious expression on his face as Sam fights with himself, mentally berating his brain and his body, for being attracted to the Guv in the first place and being so utterly oblivious to the situation. 

He is supposed to be a detective and yet this facet of his persona has completely escaped him. 

He fervently wishes that his brain hadn't chosen the moment where the man in question is plastered against him to reveal this startling truth but it has and Sam really has no choice but to try and ignore this new found wisdom; easier said than done.

"What yer thinkin'?" Gene asks as Sam rolls his eyes at the clichéd question.

"Nothing," he replies, trying to shrug Gene's arm from around his shoulders without making it too obvious that he finds the Guv's drunken touch uncomfortable; or why.

Gene barks a laugh, the hot air washing over the side of Sam's face, making his skin burn with pure sensation. "I find that very bloody 'ard to believe.Yer the type o' bloke who calculates the traje-tra-the distance of 'is spunk when 'e comes."

Sam winces at the unfortunate choice of words as his mind conjures up the scenario. Luckily Gene interprets the action as his DI's poncey nature. "Yer really are a girl aren't yer." The question is clearly rhetorical. "I bet yer don't ever like to make a mess; even in the middle o' shaggin' some plonk yer'd be worried about gettin' yer cock sticky." Gene laughs long and loud causing everyone in the bar to look over at the same time.

Wriggling out of Gene's loose hold and under the scrutiny of the entire pub, Sam mumbles, "Jus' gonna...loo," realising as he stands up that he is definitely drunker than he'd thought.

Stumbling into the toilets, Sam lurches dangerously into an open cubicle and locks the door with shaking fingers, his heart hammering in his chest and nausea rolling ominously in the pit of his stomach. He sits on the edge of the toilet and puts his head in his hands, groaning the sound of the completely doomed, the same mantra repeating itself over and over in his head, _oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._

Sam stands at the grimy sinks and splashes some cold water on his face, mentally steeling himself to go back out there as if nothing has happened. He supposes technically speaking, that nothing _has _happened and yet he still feels like the world is about to implode at any moment and change everything. 

Chiding himself for being the prissy little drama queen Gene constantly maintains he is, Sam strolls nonchalantly back out into the pub to face the baying hordes - or his drunken colleagues - promptly tripping over his feet and sprawling across the nearest table, much to the amusement of everyone.

For once Nelson doesn't have a pub full of drunken coppers drinking after closing time, as they all slope off to the office to continue the party in private, each in varying states of inebriation, their footfalls echoing down the road as they stagger onwards.

Sam shivers as the cold whips around his thin frame, the shirt he has chosen to wear highly inappropriate for the chill Manchester air. 

"Cold?" Gene asks with a smirk, looking warm and cosy in his camel hair.

Not wanting to give his boss the satisfaction, Sam soldiers on through the cold without a word. He can feel the heat rolling off Gene and unconsciously walks a little closer, not even bothering to tell himself it has anything to do with the weather.

They reach the dour, concrete monstrosity and pile into CID, paperwork once again flying everywhere as Sam's eyes dart around, trying to remember where everything is supposed to go for when he inevitably ends up cleaning. The job is made harder by Chris who is insistent upon trying to make Sam dance, his arms winding round Tyler's waist and the staggering movements more a dirty dance than anything else. Carefully removing Chris' arms from his person, Sam resists the urge to laugh and instead whispers that perhaps Ray would like to dance; watching with an evil smirk as Chris drapes himself over the uncomfortable DS. 

"I've always 'ad me suspicions about 'im." Gene says with a mischievous tone that makes Sam's insides clench down hard. "Can't actually imagine 'im wi' a bird now I come to think of it." Gene studies Chris and Ray, a finger pressed to his lips in a parody of 'thinking'. "Don't know whether Ray is as disgusted by the idea as he likes to make out." 

Both men watch Ray try to untangle himself from a clinging Chris, panic lacing his features as the younger man leans in and pecks him on the cheek. His eyes close for a beat too long before he catches Gene and Sam looking and forcefully pushes Chris away, causing him to stumble and fall against a table giggling like a schoolboy.

"Oh yeah, there's some serious repression there," Sam agrees, feeling like a hypocrite as Gene laughs in his ear.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Gene sing-songs, his body once again pressed too close to Sam, casually leaning into deliver his next words of wisdom. "Takes one to know one aye?" Winking as he pulls away, Gene staggers off to get another drink leaving Sam feeling like he's just been punched in the stomach.

The room starts to spin and Sam doesn't think it's the alcohol. He sits down heavily on the nearest chair and contemplates Gene's words, hearing them echo round his head and reliving the warmth of Gene's body pressed against his.

Time to get out - bet or no bet - Sam thinks to himself, face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and intoxication as he stands and prepares to leave. He gets as far as the doorway when he feels Gene's hand on his arm. 

"Going so soon? I knew yer would be a bit of a lightweight but yer disappoint me wi' yer weediness, the night is just gettin' started," Gene teases, hand still wrapped around Sam's arm, the grip firm, one finger moving out of sight to caress the soft skin on the inside of Sam's wrist.

"That's what I'm worried about," Sam says without thinking, the Guv's touch starting to have a very unwanted effect as he tries to pull his arm free.

"Ere, Guv. Look up." Ray's voice rises above the revelry, a worrying gleam in his eyes that speaks of revenge.

Both men look up and Sam's eyes widen as he sees the piece of green foliage taped to the doorway they are currently standing under. 

Looking back at Ray, Sam starts to shake his head. "I think you'll find that the tradition of mistletoe only applies to..." The rest of the sentence is lost as Gene shoves him hard against the wooden frame, hands fisted in the delicate material of his shirt and kisses him soundlessly on the lips - hard.

Sam has no idea whether the room really does go silent but all he can hear is the blood pounding in his ears and a white noise like the hiss of static fills his head. 

The kiss is no peck and Sam wonders what the hell Gene thinks he's doing, his arms slide around the older man's waist and despite every intention to the contrary, Sam kisses back. It's not until he feels the flicker of Gene's tongue against his lips that Sam comes to his senses. He is kissing his male boss in a room surrounded by all his colleagues and he's clearly enjoying himself, he'll never be able to set foot in the building again.

Gene licks his lips as they separate and to Sam's utter amazement reaches around and pats him on the backside. 

"Never let it be said that Gene Hunt backs away from a challenge. Now who's next?" Gene makes a grabby gesture at the nearest person and the room once again fills with noise.

Turning back to face Tyler as other people's attention is diverted elsewhere, Gene tangles their fingers together briefly, leans forward and mouths, "Later." 

Sam shivers with the promise.


End file.
